


Probability

by trueroyalty



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: kradamadness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trueroyalty/pseuds/trueroyalty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chances of Kris having to keep someone from doing something stupid, today? 100%. Chances of his "ability" doing him any good, ever? Not looking so great. Things just sort of happen around Kris, it's his curse. That he knows about it beforehand is supposedly his gift. Kris has never really believed that. Of course, he's never helped anyone quite so attractive as the guy about to get an unpleasant surprise across the street...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Probability

  
**Title:** Probability  
 **Author:** [](http://trueroyalty.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**trueroyalty**](http://trueroyalty.dreamwidth.org/)    
 **Rating:** R  
 **Beta:** [](http://shuchubi.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**shuchubi**](http://shuchubi.dreamwidth.org/)    
 **Warnings:** Fluff. Ludicrous abuse of deoxyribonucleic acid and its capabilities/manifestations. Also, took some liberties with the Therian community and their groupings (I mean no disrespect, and I did choose the therianthropes I use purposely, with certain people in mind, taking into consideration the living environment, the company that would be kept, the prevalence of therian-like mutations, and about half a dozen other invisible things).  
 **Note:** I just want to say thank you to my lovely shu for assuring me that I didn't need to use text-speak, because the boys don't talk like that on Twitter.  
 **Original Prompt by** [](http://spangel-kat.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**spangel_kat**](http://spangel-kat.dreamwidth.org/)   **:**  
 _kris and adam are strangers living in LA. kris doesn't mean to keep saving adam's life but it's not like he can just stand by and watch the guy get hit by cars or have flower pots dropping on his head!_  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okay, the thing is, Kris doesn’t mean to. No, really, he doesn’t. It is not his fault that things just sort of… happen around him. Or that he is coincidentally around when things happen, whatever.  
Either way, it is not his fault. He was born this way.

  
Twenty-five years ago::

“Oh, he really is just a little darling, isn’t he? Looks just like his papa, he does.”

“Yes, but those eyes are all his mamma’s.”

The small flock of women huddle in the living room around a bassinet.

The baby’s tiny eyes close, despite the commotion, and the group hushes off to the tiny dining room to coo over the new mother, instead.

“Oh, Kimmy, don’t you worry about that, dear. You just rest.” One of the older women guides Kim Allen to a chair, and takes over the kitchen duties.

“Okay, thank you. But, the oven can be temperamental sometimes--”

“I have been cookin’ since you were nothin’ but a gleam in your mamma’s eye, child. I can handle a persnickety appliance, don’t you worry.”

Kim glances at the oven warily, but trusts the other woman.

That probably wasn’t the best idea.

Getting distracted by tales of ‘baby’s first sneeze,’ or how many hours of labor Kim was in, or comparing each other’s birthing experiences, the roast goes neglected.

The oven really does have a mind of its own, and decides it wants to turn the heat up without letting anyone else know about it.

Kris starts to fuss in his pram, still asleep, and the ladies encourage Kim to let him be for a minute to see if he’ll calm down on his own. Good advice, unless you’ve birthed someone like Kris. Or, you know, Kris himself, obviously.

Because, you see, the thing is, Kris? Yeah, he’s kind of a… well, one word for it would be ‘mutant.’ He’s a genetic abnormality. One blessed (or cursed) with naturally modified or altered-from-the-norm DNA. A Gen-Q, as is the slang term for the increasing number who have been appearing on the world scene who are a little _different_.

Usually, though, these differences don’t manifest until pre-pubescence at the earliest. There are a few scattered cases of children as young as five developing- or, really, displaying certain unique traits, but that’s often the cause of over-processed, hormonally-injected foods or some such thing. At least that’s what the news always says.

Meanwhile, the oven _tick, tick, ticks_ away until it’s maxing out in temperature, and coming dangerously close to blowing a fuse, or starting a fire. Or ruining the roast, at very least.

A blood-curdling wail from the living room gets everyone’s attention, and Kim rushes to her baby’s side, picking him up and bouncing him gently to soothe him.

“May as well check on the meat.” The self-appointed Kitchen Mistress announces.

Of course, that could have just been a coincidence.

As could the time Kris was playing with his brother’s blankie (which he was told repeatedly not to do, _that is your brother’s, you go play with your own, Kristopher Neil_ ), and tossed it over his baby brother’s face (another big no-no) just as Uncle Wally succumbed to an uncontrollable sneeze that twirled and landed him right in Daniel’s little face. Had the blanket not been there, who knows what could have happened (or where Kim would have hidden Wally’s body).

Or when Kris insisted on wearing his complete rain gear ensemble to the grocery store, and a clumsy worker on a ladder accidentally broke a jar of jam, spilling the contents all over the passer-by below… who just happened to be wearing a slicker.

And it’s not like Kris could have known that the rope ladder couldn’t support three first-graders at one time. He just felt oddly compelled to drag the big bucket of Nerf balls across the play yard. The fact that he paused in the exact spot that kept Katy O’Connell from possibly breaking several bones- or at least getting a nasty bump on her head- that is clearly just coincidence.

It’s never anything major; no burning orphanages or gun-involved situations. Okay, there was that one time with the basket of kittens, but that was more embarrassing than anything.

So you see, it’s really not Kris’ fault.

In fact, he never would have even noticed the guy, if it weren’t for that weird tingling feeling that drew his eyes to the woman bustling about, not paying attention to where her hips are swinging, and getting ever closer to the already precariously perched row of flower pots.

And Kris really hates being the center of attention, so calling out to the guy is completely out of the question.

Instead, he quickly makes his way across the street, into the tiny alley, and up the rungs of the fire escape on the side of the building. Reaching out, Kris stretches his fingers far enough that he gets a grip on the edge of the box the three pots are in, and slides it inward onto safer, more solid ground.

Pulling back in time to evade the woman, and arranging himself so that it doesn’t look like he’d just scaled a building and prevented a severe concussion, Kris goes on with his day.

  
It’s gotten clearer to Kris as he’s gotten older that he’s one of those _different_ people. He can’t quite classify his ‘ability’, but sometimes he gets these feelings that he absolutely has to follow. Like a spidey-sense, but less cool.

He’s usually led to the scene of what could become an accident, and does whatever he has to in order to avert it. Honestly, as abilities go, it’s kind of freaking lame.

Cale was fourteen when he manifested. Magnetic fingers- how awesome is that? He’ll never be locked out of his house, or worry about losing change, and he finds the coolest stuff at the beach.

Charles got super-strength; Katy can hear, like, ants fart or whatever; and Kris’ stupid little brother Daniel has hips like a Barbie or Ken doll- stretchy to the point of complete, 360 degree rotation.

Kris gets to feel like the back of his brain and his palms are going to sneeze whenever someone’s going to, ya know, get a flower pot dropped on his head, or something.

Basically, Kris’ life is suck and fail. Plus, he’s short. Like, _girl_ short. What is that about?

  
~~~~~~~~~~

  
Two days after The Flower Pot Incident, Kris is leaving his favorite music shop with badly needed guitar strings and some new material to play. He isn’t really paying a whole lot of attention (music does that to him), but that obnoxious frickin’ tingle starts acting up, so he checks out his surroundings, partially annoyed. Can’t people take care of themselves?

Oh, of course, _this_ guy again. Still completely preoccupied with his iPhone or iPod or iWhatever, and not realizing that the little man on the sign has turned into a blinking red hand, and some douche in a Jaguar thinks he’s too awesome for plebeian things like traffic lights, and is about to make Accident-Prone Dude into Flat Accident-Prone Dude.

No time to be stealthy, Kris nearly sprints over to the corner and grabs ‘A-PD’ by the hips from behind, both tugging and holding on tight to keep him from stepping off the curb and getting all splattered and whatnot.

A-PD turns his head around and down slower than one would anticipate, a bemused smirk on his face.

“Hello, there.” The guy practically purrs.

Seriously, what the actual heck?

Kris pointedly stares at the street, and A-PD glances back just in time to see- and feel, _dude, take that corner a little closer, why don’t you?_ \- the canary yellow Jag screech by.

A-PD’s next few sentences go something like this: “ _Expletive_. _Expletive_! Holy _expletive_. Holy _expletiving expletive_! _Expletive_. What the _expletive_?” A few references are made in regards to the driver’s sexual partners, the standards of both his mother and father, as well as the legalities of his parentage.

Once the man has calmed down, Kris is still staring at him, waiting out the rant rampage.

Finally, “Oh my god, _you_!” He grips Kris by both shoulders with vice-like hands; if vices had shiny black nails. Anyway. “You saved my life! You totally just save my _expletiving_ life!”

Kris half-grins. “Uhm…”

And that’s about as far as he gets before he’s being crushed against the man’s chest, arms wrapped tightly around Kris’ entire body.

Kris thinks this should be really, horribly a lot of things, like awkward and embarrassing and worrisome, and he should very much be trying to, ya know, _get the heck away from this lunatic_. Only he really kind of _doesn’t want to_. Pretty much at all, actually.

A-PD thrusts Kris out of the - _disturbingly comfortable_ \- hug, and back into large, less painful hands.

“Oh my god, are _you_ okay?” Which sparks the guy into checking Kris over for injuries.

“I’m- no, I’m fine, really. I’m- I’m good, man, thanks.” He leaves out the ‘you damaged me more than anything’ part.

“How did you even-- I can’t--” A-PD - _he really needs to get this guy’s name, if this is going to become a regular thing_ \- threads a shaking hand through hair so black it’s blue. Or maybe there’s actually blue in it, Kris can’t quite tell, and asking the guy to bend down so Kris can sift through it like a monkey is not on his agenda.

“Hey, hey, c’mere. Come sit down; you’re, like, shaking.”

Kris leads the man, who is now coming to grips with what just almost happened, and the adrenaline is flooding out with nowhere to go, to the bench beside the old-fashioned barber shop’s front door.

Once they’re both seated, “What’s your name?”

“A-Adam.”

  
 _Huh. Actually had a few letters right, even the first one. I am such a doofus._

  
“Hi, Adam, I’m Kris.” And Kris gently helps Adam through the motions of shaking hands.

Adam gives a weak acknowledgment with his head before resting it in both of his hands, his elbows on his knees. Kris sits next to him, rubbing his back soothingly.

  
 _Wow, how many levels of weird should this be, right now? And why isn’t it, again?_

 _God, he smells good._

 _Oh, what the-- And I’m being stared at._

  
“You really did just save my life.” Adam repeats, marveling, a strange sort of blissful smile on his face, and absolutely no concern for being in public with a strange guy rubbing on him.

A strange guy who would be Kris, and, yeah, probably should stop that now.

“Well, not _really_. I mean, you might have lived.”

“Oh, please. In the battle between man verses speeding vehicle, obscenely-colored vehicle wins, okay? Don’t even try to humble your way out of this.”

His sense of humor seems to be returning, so that’s a good sign.

“Even if I had lived, I’d never dance again.”

“You dance?” Kris asks, honestly interested in what this tall, Rolling Stone-material guy does for a living.

“Well, no, but if I _did_ … or ever wanted to. He almost stopped me from choosing to never learn to dance!”

That gets a sizeable guffaw from Kris.

“I think maybe the world would be better off if I didn’t have that choice, either.” He replies, beginning to realize he’d do about anything to get Adam to talk to him for one more second, say one more word.

This is a _problem_.

“Aw, cute li’l thing like you? I bet you kill out on the floor.”

“Yes, I do bring out the homicidal in those forced to witness the disaster that is me trying to figure out how to get my feet to move along with the music.”

This time, Adam is the one who laughs. Also, ‘cute’?

“See, now I know you’re lying. You’ve got at least some rhythm; you have to, to play guitar.”

Kris’ shock shows on his face (because _everything_ shows on his face).

“How- how did you--”

A shy grin, “Calluses. On your fingertips.” And he makes an aborted move to touch.

Kris stares dumbly down at his hands, then back up at Adam, who’s starting to look strange.

Adam presses his lips together and points to the clear, thick plastic bag by Kris’ side.

“That and I’m part of the dying breed of literate human adults, with the basic observational skills of a well-trained gorilla.”

Which should sound so completely offensive, that, were this the 1800’s, and were Kris a woman, he- she- um- Adam would totally be slapped right now. Fortunately (for all involved), Adam speaks in a way that makes you want to thank him, regardless of what he’s just said.

Like, you might ask him to say absolutely anything to you, even if all he can think of are insults.

Or something less pathetic. Whatever. Kris seriously hates himself.

Plus, Adam’s smiling, and it’s a real smile, and Kris doesn’t think it was meant as a put-down, so Kris’ll just smile back.

“Right.”

Also, Kris does this thing, where, when words are spoken, or air is breathed somewhere in the world, his face lights itself on fire. He doesn’t think that’s one of his awesome mutations, though. Considering the caliber of his other abnormalities, however…

“Hey,”

Oh, yes, right, not living in your own headspace. Great idea.

“Um, I was about to head to my Mom’s to help her move some stuff, and weasel lunch out of her, but if you’re not busy tonight, I would love to take you to dinner.”

At Kris’ re-raised eyebrows and rounded eyes, Adam backtracks, “Not, uh, not like- I didn’t mean for it to sound like a-a date or anything. I meant, like, a ‘thank you’ thing. You know, for all the, um, life saving.”

His gestures become more flaily and uncontrolled, the longer he talks. Kris is trying very hard not to be charmed by this.

Have we mentioned the _fail_ that tends to be Kristopher? It has struck again.

Schooling what is surely a humiliatingly stupid grin into a functioning mouth, Kris replies.

“That’s- that’s really not necessary, Adam. I didn’t-- But, anyway, uh, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t appeal to me, and I’m kind of the world’s worst liar, so.” He shrugs.

“Yeah?” It’s like Adam can’t believe Kris is agreeing.

  
 _What the heck kind of people wouldn’t agree to spending time with this man?! Crazy people, that’s who!_

  
The light is coming back into Adam’s eyes, where it was retreating with the perceived rejection. Kris resolves that light should never be dimmed, ever, and he will destroy anything that tries to do so.

“Yeah, man. I’m not doin’ anything.” Provided no one in the vicinity decides to stroll under a painter’s scaffolding or something.

Adam beams at him, and Kris floats a bit above the bench. But only metaphorically, because oh no, Kris couldn’t have potentially cool flight abilities.

“Okay, well, here,” Adam scrambles to get his contacts page up on his phone, like if he doesn’t hurry, Kris will change his mind. Hello, it’s free food, bare minimum. Who turns that down? “Let me get-- Or, did you- would you rather get my number? Cuz I know some people don’t like to give out--”

“Nah, man, that’s cool. Here, lemme see. I never call myself, so I have to check. Um,” Oh my gosh, Kris, be more of an idiot right now.

Adam, if anyone is wondering, is not trying at all to not be charmed by this, and is succeeding quite splendidly.

“Ah!” The Holy Grail, at long last.

Kris reads off his number, Adam types it in, then calls Kris’ phone to complete the exchange. Thank goodness Kris doesn’t automatically go to answer it when it rings.

There’s the awkward good-bye scene, with neither knowing what to say or do, and it’s all kind of sad.

And then, “Hey, Adam?”

Adam turns back around from his thorough search for any sort of vehicle (and possibly low-flying birds) that may be thinking about going down this street, jumping a little.

“You said your mom’s moving?”

“Uh, she donated a bunch of furniture, and got some new stuff, so she needs help getting all that shipped out and set up,” is the reply, a question in the tone.

“Um, it’s cool if you say no, if you’ve got enough people or whatever, but, if y’all could use another body, I don’t mind helping.”

Adam gets snagged on the ‘y’all’, and takes a second to pull his brain back up to the top head where it belongs.

“Are you sure? I mean, that’s--”

“I’ve got nothin’ to do today, and I’m feeling sort of restless. It’d be good to get this energy out. What better way than helping a neighbor?”

Actually, Adam can think of one or two, but, again, _dominant head control_.

Finally, Adam agrees, and Kris bounces over to him.

  
 _Eager puppy much?_

  
There’s just something about this guy. Kris can’t put his finger on it, but it’s building, he can feel it in the back of his skull like a dozen of those warning tingles, and he needs to figure this out.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
“Mom? Mom! I’m here, and I come bearing assistance!” Adam announces the moment he steps through the front door, re-pocketing his keys. How those keys fit in there the first time is beyond Kris’ comprehension.

“Adam? Baby, I’m back here!”

“That is not directionally helpful!” He calls back.

“In the- _oof!_ ” A mop of curly, black hair bounces up from the cupboard behind the kitchen. “In the basement pantry.” She finishes belatedly, a huge box of frozen taquitos in her hands.

Kris automatically shifts into ‘helper mode’, jerkily starting to head for the woman, but Adam is quicker (and much more graceful, it must be said), getting there first to take the box in one arm and hug his mom with the other.

There’s a moment where Kris is transported back to Arkansas, in his own family home, wrapped in his Momma’s arms, and for that moment he is inconsolably sad. And then he’s being introduced to Adam’s mother, and time and space start behaving appropriately again.

“Mom, you will not _believe_ the morning I’ve had.”

The woman’s eyes flit curiously to the stranger in her living room.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your,” she pauses a fraction of a second too long, but recovers with, “new friend, first?”

“No, cuz he’s part of it. Now, listen.”

Kris fights the grin forming; Adam strikes him as one of those very dramatic people, who turn everyday situations into adventures. He’s not wrong.

In elaborate- and occasionally exaggerated- detail, Adam regales his mom with the harrowing tale. At certain points, the woman looks at Kris as if in confirmation of the accuracy of whatever Adam is animatedly describing. For the most part, Kris just shrugs and nods, like, ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened, minus about ninety percent of the excitement.’

“So, Mom, I’d like you to meet My Hero,” Adam holds his arms out like he’s presenting on The Price Is Right. “Kris…” His smile freezes, realizing that’s all he’s got, and Kris is quick to assist, even though he isn’t all that comfortable with the audible capital letters Adam put on the whole ‘hero’ bit.

“Allen.” He whispers.

“Allen!” Adam finishes, like he knew it all along. “Kris Allen, my Mom, Leila Lambert.”

The two shake hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lambert.” His Momma raised her boys to be polite.

“Oh, look at how charming you are.”

Kris figures she doesn’t mean that literally. He does, however, blush. Because of the sucking fail.

Adam looks back and forth at them with a hand on either one’s shoulder, and a smile on his face like this is his favorite moment ever. Also a little like a puppy, which makes Kris want to check for a wagging tail, which says Kris needs to occupy himself _pronto_.

A few seconds pass.

“Okay!” Adam announces again; he doesn’t really have an ‘indoor voice’ right now. “I’m hungry! Let’s eat!”

“Sandwiches are on their way, and I was working on snacks when you came in.”

“What can I help you with, ma’am?” Kris asks, heading over to wash his hands in the sink, in case she wants him to work with food.

“Honey, it’s Leila; ‘ma’am’ is for old ladies. And you can stop my son from attempting anything that may resemble cooking, so that the fire department doesn’t drop by. I don’t have enough sandwiches coming for all of them.”

“One time!” Adam laments, hands in the air. “It was _one time_ , I was, like, twelve, and it was a faulty wire thingy; not my fault. I cook _just fine_ at home.”

That last sentence had a sort of petulance about it that makes Kris pat him on the arm, subtly inching him away from the cooking sheet Adam had pulled out for the taquitos.

“Plus, if I recall correctly, you ended up with one of their phone numbers, didn’t you, Ma?” He teases smugly, popping a grape into his mouth.

“You were sixteen, and we both got numbers that day, only yours would have been illegal, and I made sure he knew it.”

Huge eyes and a face full of recollection, “Oh, god, that’s right. Ugh, that was awful; why’d you do that to me?”

“Two words: statutory rape. He wasn’t even your type, anyway.” She dismisses, shooing him out of the tiny kitchen with his bowl of grapes.

Flopping onto the couch, Adam scoffs, “Fireman, hello! They are the universal type.”

Kris, finished with his duty, stands uncertainly as out-of-the-way as he can manage, without looking like he’s uncomfortable.

He must somehow catch Adam’s eye (more fail, Kristopher), who is smacked with the knowledge that maybe this is new information for Kris.

“Oh, uh, right. Hi, I’m gay, by the way.” Adam waves at Kris, who (like an imbecile) waves back. He really hates himself sometimes; today more than usual.

“Um, okay.” Seriously, what do you say to that? ‘Congratulations’? ‘Duh’?

Leila snorts in response.

“Sweetie, a blind, deaf astronaut could figure that out; give the boy a little credit.” She winks at Kris, and it actually makes him feel a little better, for no reason he can figure.

Adam’s quiet for a few long moments.

Then, “How’d a blind, deaf guy get to be an astronaut?”

Maybe he wasn’t supposed to, but Kris busts out laughing at that. Leila eyes him a second, amused for what looks like a couple different reasons, before chuckling, herself.

Hopping up from the couch, Adam takes the four strides of his seven-foot-long legs required to stand him in front of Kris.

“You’d already guessed that, huh?”

He doesn’t understand why, but Adam almost looks… nervous? Shy? What is that face?

Deciding not to say something snarky about the astronaut, Kris goes with quietly telling him, “Observational skills of a well-trained ape.”

That gets him a look from Leila, and a loud, happy laugh from Adam.

“Touché, Kris- is it Kristopher?”

“Yeah, and with a ‘K’.”

Adam mulls that over in his mind, mouthing ‘Kristopher’ a few times. Kris takes that time to catch Leila up (because he so does not need this woman to hate him, and, also, watching that mouth basically _taste_ his name could very well _kill him_ ).

“Something Adam said earlier.”

“I figured.”

  
The rest of the afternoon is fairly uneventful. There’s the usual hazards: heavy furniture connecting with body parts, and awkward angling of impossible-to-see-over couches combined with human nature that occasionally results in a crushed ribcage or decapitation, but Kris was able to keep all of that from happening.

There was that one thing, though, that Kris doesn’t even know about; and won’t, for as long as Adam has any say. Three delivery men showed up, but one was stupid and nearly made it so only two left. What did he think, going to someone else’s home, and flat-out leering at one of the occupants? Is that appropriate work behavior? Adam does not think so. Clearly, Adam and Kris aren’t related, and obviously (as has been mentioned) at least one of them is gay, so where does this guy get off thinking he can just waltz up and ogle? The only ogling that should be done is by Adam, thank you very much. Fortunately, the man backed off with only a low growl and sharp glare from over Kris’ oblivious head.

 _His cute, little fluffy head_ , Adam’s brain supplies helpfully, because of course Adam hadn’t noticed that previously, thank you, subconscious.

At Adam’s unhappy noise above him, Kris had looked up to ask what was wrong, but Adam just smiled, face untroubled, and wrapped an arm around Kris’ shoulders in a brief squeeze.

Oh, and there was that close encounter with the truth before they got started, when Leila asked Kris- probably (mostly) in jest- if he happened to have telekinesis. Kris stuttered and gaped and didn’t blink, and Adam had to come to his rescue.

“Mom! You can’t just _ask_ someone if they’ve got the ability to move objects with their mind! How’d you like it if a perfect stranger came up and asked you if that was your natural hair color, or if you dye over the grey?” Leila scrunches up her face. “See? It’s none of your business.” He turns to Kris, “I’m sorry; we’re very… open in this family.”

“It’s not like I meant it in an offensive way. I figured it’d be helpful if he did, you know, with moving stuff around. Kris, honey, you’re not upset, right?”

Even if he was, it’s not like he could say yes. “No, ma-- Mrs. Lambert.”

“Leila.” She repeats. “Well, it’s too bad you’re not a Q-er. I’ve got a girl at work who can read, like, four hundred pages every half hour. Really cuts down on the paperwork.”

Once Leila had gone back into the kitchen, Adam stood in front of Kris with an apologetic face. That face could out-cute puppies and kittens playing in rainbow colored marshmallow piles, okay? Kris did not stand a chance.

“I’m really sorry; I hope you’re not--”

“Dude, it’s fine, really. You don’t have to apologize. It’s kind of refreshing, actually; someone who genuinely is fine with, ya know, the Gen-Q population.”

“Well, she’s gotten used to being open minded, and dealing with others showing prejudice, so that isn’t even something that pings her radar.”

Kris smiles, relieved to know that, if it ever does happen to come out, at least he knows Adam won’t shun him for it.

Shrewd eyes study Kris. “You know you can trust me, right? I mean, we just met and all, but you don’t have to worry, if--” He pauses to find the phrasing he wants. “I’m really good at keeping other people’s secrets.” Shrugging, Adam gives Kris a grin full of meaning, “Just putting that out there.”

After a few moments of what can only be called staring at each other, Kris clears his throat and looks for something else to take his attention from where it (really, really) wants to focus.

“I, uh, I can’t move things with my mind.” And he sounds regretful about it.

  
 _Now that would be an awesome ability. No, I’m Accident Preventing Boy. Stupid genetics._

  
“Ooh, the sandwiches are here!” Leila calls, her view of the window much better than the boys’ near the hallway.

“Hungry?” Adam asks, raising an eyebrow at Kris, who refuses to acknowledge any possible inferences to anything other than actual, literal food. Again, for the sake of his sanity.

But, that was the extent of the issues. Aside from Leila and her ever-changing mind on where and how her new furniture should be arranged, of course.

\------------------------------------------

So many hours later that it’s getting close to dusk, the exhausted trio let themselves fall onto the new couch and easy chair.

Adam quirks a wry grin over at Kris, “Bet you wish you hadn’t volunteered, now, don’t you?”

“Nah, man,” Kris drawls, slouching even further, “I’m glad to help. Just think, you’d’ve had to do all that by yourself.”

The other man pales at the thought. “Bless you, my son,” He quips, “I owe you. Actually, at this point, I probably should just sign away my soul and that of any offspring in payment.”

Kris waves him off, “Whatever, man. We’ll call this a freebie.”

“So, just my soul, then?”

Chuckling, “Yeah, totally. What do I need kids for?”

“Slave labor?”

Leila rolls her eyes at that. Her boys are ridiculous. Well, her son is ridiculous, and the fact that she’s already thinking of Kris as one of her boys is… telling.

“Well, thank you both for helping. I couldn’t have done it without you.” A sweet pause, then, “Now get out.”

Easy laughter follows, and within ten minutes, Adam and Kris are standing awkwardly beside the bottom set of stairs leading up to Leila’s place. Kris blames himself for the majority of the uneasiness; he just can’t seem to find his footing with this guy.

“So,” Adam draws out the vowel exaggeratedly, “are you still up for dinner, or would you rather make it another night?”

Kris can’t tell which Adam prefers, so he tries to call upon his ‘danger-o-meter’ in a sort of crystal ball type way. Does he feel tingly thinking about either option? When that fails, as he knew it would, sufficient time has passed that Adam is starting to lose a tiny bit of that shine, again, which will not do.

“I am pretty wiped,” And there slips more of that optimism or hope or whatever it is in Adam’s eyes, “But, I mean, I’ve got stuff at home for salad and, like, burgers or pasta or, uh, cereal? So, if you wanna just hang out there, and then we can do a more formal thing or whatever another night…”

That seems to perk Adam right up, especially when ‘another night’ is mentioned. It’s almost like he _wants_ to spend time with Kris. No, Kris’ life is not that awesome; rock stars and supermodels (or those who could be one) do not actively pursue and/or enjoy Kris’ company, just as a rule.

“…Or we can do whatever, it’s up to you.” He has to give the out, it’s part of his built-in self-preservation defense system.

“That sounds great. Let me get your address, and then I’ll go home, get cleaned up, and come over. How’s that?”

Kris rubs the back of his neck, the way he does when he’s nervous or shy. Or when a human so… enchanting, no, mystifying, no, enthralling-- Someone like _Adam_ \- who could confess to being not of this Earth, and Kris’d believe him- is making plans to come over to his house for the purpose of voluntarily socially interacting with Kris.

“Awesome.” It’s all he can get out, and he’s feeling like a doofus again.

Apparently, the doofiness is lost on Adam, whose entire face- heck, even his hair brightens, giving Kris a blinding smile.

“Awesome.” Adam repeats under his breath. Kris cannot for the life of him figure this guy out. “Will an hour and a half be enough time for you to get ready?”

Kris blinks a second at him. “You mean, like, dinner?”

Adam’s eyes widen, and he’s quick to correct, “No, no! I mean-- no, I wouldn’t make you cook, come on, now. You’re my hero, remember? I just know that I tend toward long showers, and my routine for becoming public-ready can take some time, so I wanted to make sure…”

“Yeah, I… don’t; mine doesn’t. I’m, uh, I’m pretty quick when it comes to stuff like that.” Seriously, he gets frustrated if his morning preparations take more than twenty minutes, total.

Most of Adam’s foundation has worn off, and the light blush on the tops of his cheeks is totally natural.

“Oh, well, okay, um.” Adam chews on the corner of his lip, zeroing in Kris’ attention.

“Don’t feel like you’ve gotta get all fancied up or anything. Just come over and hang out. It doesn’t matter what you look like.”

Skeptical and snarky, Adam counters, “Honey, it _always_ matters.”

Not swayed, Kris snorts and waves a hand at him, “Psh, nah, man.” Then that freakin’ pink edges its way up onto Kris’ face, “I just mean, you don’t, ya know, you don’t hafta worry about… that.” _Oh my god, what are my words?! Someone help me! And don’t think the irony of that is lost on me_. “I wouldn’t care if you showered at my place. Like, you don’t need to--”

Kris closes his eyes. Did he really just invite Adam back to his place to shower? Were those the actual words he said to this man? What is it in the Universe that hates Kris so much?

His eyes are still closed, so he doesn’t see Adam about to break into hysterics. “Not, like, at- at the--”

Yeah, Adam can’t hold back any longer. Kris shoots an anxious glance at a laughing Adam.

A few wheezing breaths, “Oh my god, you are so freakin’ adorable!” And then there’s more laughing.

Once everyone has calmed themselves… ( _*ahem* Adam, that includes you._ )

“Alright, here’s what we’ll do: we’re gonna go to our respective homes, clean up, and in one hour I will be at your place. Deal?”

“Deal.” Good grief, how difficult can this be? It isn’t even a date!

The two finally head in separate directions, Kris hoping he doesn’t have too much cleaning up to do -laundry was only two days ago, so it should be okay-, and Adam fretting about how he’s going to get his look perfect in less than an hour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fortunately, Adam is having a surprisingly good hair day, which cuts his prep work by a third. Kris said not to worry about getting ‘fancied up’ for him, but Kris hasn’t seen Adam without the majority of his smoke and mirrors protection, and therefore has no idea what he’s asking for. He takes a shorter-than-usual shower (it helps that he doesn’t jack off; apparently that’s a real time killer), and goes for the ‘natural’ look- powder foundation, and light eyeliner- before standing in front of his closet for way too long, trying to figure out what to wear without it looking like he spent ten minutes just staring at his clothes.

He’s only six minutes late, which in itself is a triumph of epic proportions. He raises his fist to knock.

“Adam,” Kris says through a shy but obviously delighted grin, “Come on in. Were- were my directions--”

Still somewhat taken aback that he didn’t even connect knuckles to door before Kris had opened up, “Yeah, they were fine. Great. I just, uh--” All the way here, Adam had been searching for a decent excuse, should Kris ask. He hadn’t come up with anything then, and it’s no better, now.

If the way Kris is pretending like he isn’t totally checking Adam out is any indication, neither the excuse nor the six minutes are of any real concern.

“You, uh,” He holds back the flailing limbs as best he can, mostly by, well, running away; retreating into the kitchen before his arms can embarrass him. His mouth, on the other hand… “I told you not to worry about getting all… dressed up or anything.”

“I didn’t.” He insists. Honestly, he’s rolled out of bed more dolled up than this.

Kris turns and gives him a skeptical once-over before landing his gaze on Adam’s with an expression that clearly says, ‘I believe you are full of crap, sir.’

“I swear! Jeans and a t-shirt, Kris; this is not dressed up. This is _barely dressed_.”

If Adam didn’t know better (and, really, he doesn’t), he’d be thinking all kinds of fascinating things about the way Kris keeps failing to keep his eyes off of some part of Adam. Except he’s almost positive Kris is straight, or at the very least not interested in Adam for any of _those_ kinds of extracurricular activities, so he tells his thoughts to shut up, and changes the subject.

“So! What are you in the mood for, Mr. Allen?” And he completely misses (thank all that is good) the conflict warring out on Kris’ face on what his brain is supplying, and what he’s allowing himself to say.

  
Now, Kris has had dates where he’s had to ‘accidentally’ sabotage a waiter’s predestined route to avoid some flaming dish from singeing the eyebrows off of some unsuspecting patron. On one remarkable occasion, he snuck his way into the kitchen and kept a bout of salmonella from spreading (he still isn’t allowed back to that restaurant, and his date was decidedly unimpressed with his rescue efforts; that whole night kind of sucked).

It’s the weirdest thing, but, tonight, _nothing happens_. No near-accidents or narrowly-avoided disasters or injuries (although at least one of them may have pulled something from laughing, Kris doesn’t think that counts). There aren’t even awkward, uncomfortable, or otherwise unpleasant moments, which is something neither has ever experienced, especially on a first… um…

“You know, for this not being a date, it sure does feel… date-y.”

“I noticed that, too. It’s not, though.”

“No, of course not. If this were a date, we’d have gone out, and then, if I’d invited you up for coffee, there would be all kinds of implications and expectations and stuff.”

“But since it’s not a date, we don’t have to worry about any of that. We can just enjoy each other’s company. This is a very smart plan of ours, Kristopher Allen.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you, Adam Lambert.” A pause. “So, do you? Want some coffee, I mean.”

“I would. Ooh- do you have tea?”

They discuss the merits of keeping tea around the apartment. Kris decides that if it means Adam comes over more, he’ll frickin’ buy China. Or Europe. Wherever there’s all that tea.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
“I know, Mom, but it’s not like that; _he’s_ not like that.”

It’s been about a month (twenty-eight days, ten hours, thirty-seven minutes, but who’s counting? Besides the boys, of course.) since ‘Accident-Prone Dude’ became ‘Adam’ and Kris hasn’t been able to figure out how to stop the spread of that virulent idiot grin that keeps popping up any time he isn’t paying attention to what his face is doing. And sometimes, even when he is paying attention, it’s that insidious. Adam hasn’t been fairing much better, and his friends are just as enthusiastic in pointing out the change as Kris’ are.

He knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but Kris was coming up the sidewalk up to Adam’s brownstone when the sound of Adam’s voice came floating out the second-story window that Adam always forgets to close. It’s sort of Adam’s routine, to talk to his Mom on the phone, stretched out on his bed, at least three times a week. Kris wonders if, when he and Adam call one another, Adam is in the same position. Maybe it’s his ‘on the phone’ spot. Anyway, not the point.

Kris’ Momma would be so disappointed if she knew he was listening in on someone else’s private conversation, but if Adam was that serious about privacy, he’d be more mindful-- yeah, that wouldn’t work on his Momma, either. It’s just, Kris is pretty sure that Adam is talking about _him_ , and who can resist that? Two minutes- that’s all he’ll do, and then he’ll stop skulking around in what he knows is a blind spot from Adam’s window.

  
 _Okay, yes, that is a bit creepy. So, just one minute, then. That’s much better. I can just, like, tie my shoes or something. That left one was feeling loose._

  
“No, I’m not gonna just come right out and _say_ it; I’m not-- No, come on, Mom, seriously.”

 _Say what?_

“You don’t know him like I do, okay? This isn’t--”

 _He can say anything to me, tell me anything, I thought he knew that. Thought he felt that way._

“I kn- I know, I want to, it’s just, what if-- No, I know he’s not like that; he’d never--”

 _Of **course** I’d never! I don’t even know **what** I’d never, but I know that I’d never. …What would I never? _

Adam’s quiet, listening, and then his voice sounds unlike Kris has ever heard it.

“I- I’m scared, Mom. Okay? Yeah, I’m afraid; what do you want from me? What do you want me to say? It’s never been like this; _I’ve_ never been like this, and I don’t,” A deep sigh, and it breaks Kris’ heart a little, “I can’t lose him, Mom. Please, just- just don’t _push_ , alright?”

Kris thinks he hears a small sniffle, and the next sigh is wet-sounding, and Kris is about to break down the freaking door, or claw his way up the brick and mortar, because his Adam is hurting, and that has to _**stop**_. Huh. Maybe it’s a good thing Kris’ ability is so lame. If he could, like, shoot fireballs from his eyes or something, there’s be some flaming shrubbery going on right about now.

“Look, Kris is gonna be here any minute; the guy’s still got his Southern punctuality, and I can’t have my eyes looking like this. Alright. Love you, too, Mom. Bye.”

The phone beeps off and is tossed on the bed, bouncing. Adam lets out a frustrated, growling sigh, then goes to work putting the rest of his face together.

The doorbell rings.

“Right on time.” He mutters, smudging his liner as he jogs down the stairs. “Hello, Kristopher.”

“Hey, man-- Whoa. You okay?” Kris aims for clueless and mildly concerned, as a friend.

Adam smiles, and it strikes Kris as forced, but he doesn’t call Adam on it.

“Yeah, honey, just stuck the mascara wand in my eye. Gimme a minute to fix this mess?”

Kris rolls his eyes; Adam looks fine to him. Granted, Adam _always_ looks amazing, so maybe Kris isn’t the best judge. “Sure thing. I told you to be more careful, but do you listen? _No_ …” He draws out the ‘o’, making himself comfortable on the couch and flipping through a magazine under the coffee table.

It isn’t until Adam is standing in front of the couch, stuffing his wallet into his pocket- and, seriously, Adam will never be pick-pocketed in those jeans, _holy crap_ \- that Kris’ brain registers what he’s been staring at for the last five minutes. Adam, of course, notices immediately.

“Wildflower or Wildcat?” He asks, amusement bursting out all over.

“What?” And then Kris sees what Adam is gesturing at. The Cosmo Quiz- ‘Wildflower or Wildcat: Which Does Your Man Want In Bed, Tonight? How You Can Tell Before It’s Too Late!’ This discovery is followed by much blushing (someone may want to put the fire department on standby for this one), and tear-inducing laughter (“I just finished my eyes!” “Well, then stop laughing.”).

\------

Today they’re going to the park. Kris has been struggling with a few pieces of songs he’s writing (all the ones about strangers and blue eyes and miracles are kept safely locked away in a box in Kris’ closet, and yes, Kris gets the irony of _that_ , too, thanks), and Adam volunteered to ‘pretend like he can help’, which is sort of code for ‘play me pretty music.’ The entire way there, Adam makes futile attempts to snag the guitar from Kris, who is ‘not a damsel, thank you very much, I can handle my own instrument,’ which is way funnier than it has any right to be.

Two hours later, Kris is rethinking this whole ‘being at the park’ idea. So far, he has: kept a dog from jumping out of the bed of its master’s truck and chasing the geese wandering too close to what was clearly its perimeter; saved a little girl’s ice cream cone from an untimely demise on the ground; stopped whatever insanity would have happened if the senior citizen pair had been in the path of the unstable kick-boarders (there was nothing he could do for the idiot or the tree he smacked into); and probably solidified any question in Adam’s mind as to whether or not Kris is, in fact, certifiable.

  
“Wow, you really can’t help yourself, can you?” Adam inquires, wry smirk on his lips, amusement and what could be a touch of concern in his eyes.

Kris sighs, “No, I really can’t.” It’s sort of mopey, and more to himself than in answer to Adam.

“Aw, I think it’s sweet. Helping little old people cross the dangerous highways and byways during their afternoon stroll, and all.” Okay, now he’s mocking. He’s being honest, but he’s still mocking.

“Shut up. It was worth it to see that moron hit that tree.”

“It totally was,” Adam agrees. “Ignore me; I’m just jealous that your heroism isn’t limited to me. You know how I like to feel special.”

 _That’s better_ , Kris thinks. He can’t stand the idea that Adam might think less of him, especially because of something he can’t control.

(He’s tried. When he was younger, he railed against his ability, refusing to do anything about those obnoxious itches under his skin. Even when it got worse, burning instead, and he was living with a constant headache, Kris would turn away from stopping the paint can from falling over, or the dog from chasing the cat and tracking mud everywhere.

He lasted almost an entire week. Walking home from school, kids were playing with one of those grocery store rubber balls (the tie-die kind, remember those? Anyway.), and it bounced into the street. Normally, no cars travel this residential road, unless they live here, or are lost. Someone must have been lost; Kris never found out. The boy was maybe four or five years old, and there was no way Kris could just stand there, tingles or no, and watch a child get hit by a two-ton piece of moving metal.

The relief Kris felt afterward- the loss of that vision-impairing pressure behind his eyes, and no longer feeling like his bones were sparking sticks of dynamite- was enough to convince him that there was no point in denying it, anymore. He’s a freak. A boring freak, but a Gen-Q, nonetheless. May as well embrace it.)

“Oh, come on,” Kris bumps his shoulder against Adam’s, “You know you’re my favorite.”

Adam’s resulting smile, and the glee in his eyes puts an inexplicably giddy squirm to Kris’ stomach and chest. Unsure of how to deal with the novel feeling, Kris leans into Adam again, avoiding looking up into his face. Lord knows what would happen.

“Alright, back to work! I want to get this bridge put together today.” Kris pretends not to notice that Adam is situated against him in a way that could be easily confused for a cuddle.

\--------------------------------

Kris doesn’t see Adam for three days. No texts, no e-mails, no phone calls or messages, not even a silly note left at his door (which gave Kris a new appreciation for post-it notes and their variety of colors. Also, glitter pens). It’s beyond unusual, seeing as how Adam’s practically surgically attached to his iPhone, and will text the most inane, random things to Kris, regardless of the time of day or night.

Getting a picture of what is apparently a new European cosmetic line’s edible lotions- and their _interesting_ names- in line at Starbucks certainly woke up the woman snooping behind him. Kris figures it serves her right, and hopes she saw the accompanying, _‘hungry? or r u feeling ~dry? want me 2 pick u up a set?’_ followed by, _‘omg, nm. tasted it. made me make this face’_ and Adam’s goofy, scrunched up, tongue-sticking-out expression loud and clear above it.

So, yes, this sudden void in communication is really starting to worry Kris. Therefore, Kris feels entirely justified in his slightly manic knocking on Adam’s door at eight-thirty in the morning on the fourth day of the possible alien abduction (no, Adam would totally text from the ship; there goes that theory). A very rumpled, distinctly unhappy Adam glares murderously out the open crack of his door.

“Kristopher Neil Allen, if someone is not dead, dying, or in some sort of serious and immediate legal trouble, I am going to skewer you and roast you in my backyard like a Hawaiian pig.”

“Let me in, Adam.” All business, that’s Kris.

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t heard from you in any way, shape, or form since Saturday. You never answered any of my calls, or texts, not even to let me know you weren’t, like, in the hospital or anything. So, unless you’ve got indecent company, let me in.”

“If I were in the hospital, I’d call you. Or my mom would.” Way to focus on the big picture, Lambert.

“Are you naked?”

Adam’s eyes widen, vision becoming a little more acute. “No,” He answers warily.

“Are there any naked people in your house?”

Sighing, annoyed and resigned, Adam walks away from the door, presumably to make coffee, leaving the door open for Kris to enter at will.

“I was _worried_ about you, you idiot.” Kris scolds, taking a seat on one of the bar stools at Adam’s kitchen counter. He is given a yawn in response. “Adam, I’m serious. Why didn’t you call me?”

Rubbing his face, Adam leans on his elbows heavily, keeping an eye on the coffee pot, but also looking at Kris. “When, exactly, did you become my girlfriend? Or my mother?” He snaps, and is immediately shamed and apologetic. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I get pissy this early without caffeine.”

Kris nods his acceptance, “’s fine. Just… where were you, man?” Because he really was worried. Probably more than he had the right to be, if he’s being honest. Adam wasn’t far off from the truth with his ‘girlfriend’ remark.

Pouring himself a cup, and Kris one, as well, Adam takes a deep whiff of the liquid, “Ahh, coffee; nectar of the gods.” Then, “I was here.”

“Here? Here, as in, your home, here?”

“Yes, home, here.”

Well that doesn’t make sense. “But- I- the-- Why didn’t you--”

Adam rakes and ruffles his fingers through his already hopelessly messy hair, fluffing it even more, and, _god, could he be more adorable? Seriously._ His bottom lip pouts a little, _so that answers that question_.

“I turned my phone off.”

“Off?!” Kris squeaks.

“I should have told you; I do this thing, a few days a month, I sort of disappear. I disconnect, and hole up here, and just kind of recharge myself. Clear the spiritual cobwebs and everything. It’s very cleansing; I’ve done it for years. Everyone knows about it, so I didn’t think to fill you in. I’m sorry.” He really does look repentant, and his countenance is softer around the edges, so maybe there’s some merit to this personal retreat.

Kris’ relief is plain, “It’s okay; I’m glad you’re okay. I wish you’d told me, but, I get it. Good for you; I didn’t think you could go three hours without checking your phone, let alone three days.”

Half of Adam’s mouth quirks upward, but is quickly drawn into a healthy drink from the mug in Adam’s hands. “Shut up.” Echoes in the porcelain. “So you really came by to see if I was alright?”

“Well, mostly I came over to yell at you until you explained yourself, but, yeah. When you check your phone, you’ll see why.”

Adam does so. At the number of texts and missed calls from Kris, Adam arches an eyebrow. “Thirty-two?”

“I told you, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

“Yeah, but, Kris. Thirty-two messages and texts? Was there some kind of emergency?”

“No,” Kris hedges, now seeing that maybe he was a little, um, over-enthusiastic. “I just--”

“You just what? I mean, you do have other friends, right? Baby, please tell me you’ve got more than just me and your family in your contacts list.”

Kris huffs and rolls his eyes. “ _Yes_ , of course I do, come on. I don’t think you realize how often _you_ text _me_ , is the thing. If I don’t get at least five texts or calls from you every day, it’s because we’re actually together.”

“So, what you’re saying is, we’re a pair of co-dependants.” He pauses to consider this. “Is that-- I mean, do you think that’s--” Adam’s starting to gnaw on his bottom lip and avoid Kris’ gaze.

“Do I think it’s a problem?” Kris sticks his lip out in thought. Adam resolutely does not lean over the counter and bite it. “Ya know, I kind of really don’t.” He shrugs, finally. “Do you?”

Adam thinks about it. Theirs is an unconventional relationship, to say the least, but it doesn’t feel unhealthy by any means, and no one has said anything in more than just jest (and they absolutely would; his friends and family are just like that), so… “I gotta agree. So, we’re good?”

Kris nods, perfectly satisfied with their conclusion. And that seems to be that.

They have cereal together, and don’t really talk, and then Kris watches TV while Adam gets a shower. It’s sort of unspoken but understood that they’re going to spend the day together; neither of them question it. Why should they? It works for them. They just… work.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
They don’t know how it happens, but the next thing they know, six months have passed. Keys have been exchanged, Kris has a standing invitation at Leila’s dinner table (and lunch, and breakfast, should either ever be desired or required), and there’s very little- embarrassing, ridiculous, unpleasant, and otherwise- that they don’t know about one another.

Even when Adam had the flu, Kris came over, tidied up his place, and held the triple-lined waste basket for him, petting his head while he threw up every two minutes; and Adam waited with Kris until four in the morning at the emergency room when Kris fractured his wrist, making sure Kris ‘got home okay.’ Kris figured whatever reasons Adam had, he could keep them a secret, so long as Kris got to keep the real reason his wrist was hurt in the first place to himself.

So, yeah, they know pretty much all there is to know about each other.

Except that one thing.

  
It’s nearing ‘that time of the month’ for Adam (“It’s only funny the first half a dozen times, Kristopher. Then you just sound like my brother.”). Kris has taken to putting together little gift baskets for Adam’s three day retreat from the world. The first one had a few mini chocolate bars included (“I try not to eat refined sugars.”); the following care package touted an at-home enema kit (“It’s not that kind of cleansing, Mr. Allen, you jerkwad.”). There’s always at least one Cosmo or Vogue magazine, and some silly cosmetic item- Dr. Pepper lip balm, sparkly eye shadow, a mini mani-pedi set, and so on. Kris noticed Adam was down to the nub of his MAC eyeliner, so he bought him a new one, taping it to the inside of the pencil box lid. The box is Lisa Frank, and is decorated in sparkly, holographic cartoon unicorns and rainbows.

Kris is rocking back and forth, heel to toe on Adam’s porch, bag holding the box and magazines in hand.

“Can you just leave it there, Kris?” A voice asks from behind the closed door.

A very confused Kris replies, “Uh, why?”

Adam sounds funny; rougher, and a bit like his teeth are in the way of his tongue.

“I’m not feeling very well, and I don’t want to get you sick. Thanks for the survival kit, babe; set it behind the plant right there, and I’ll get it when you’re out of contamination range.”

 _This is weird_ , Kris thinks, _since when do we care about sharing germs?_

“Dude, do you not recall the Night Of A Thousand Hurls? I think we’re past this part of our relationship. Let me in; I’ll get you all set up on the couch, or in bed, wherever you’ll be most comfortable.” Adam is hiding something, and Kris is determined to figure out what it is.

“No, Kris, just leave it,” Adam barks back, sounding stranger by the minute.

“Hey, Adam, man, what’s wrong? Look, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you won’t even open the door, and you _know_ I’ll camp out right here all day if I have to.” He will, too. “I’ll start singing about you letting me in.” Inspired, Kris demonstrates with, “Open your door to me, darlin’. Undo the lock, or I’ll use my key. Open your door to me-e-e, Adam; your door is locked, but I, I’ve got a key.”

Knowing Kris is not kidding, and he will get louder if he doesn’t comply, Adam grouses and yanks the door open a sliver. The bright, excited smile, and happy eyes almost do Adam in, but he knows he can’t let Kris see him. Not like this.

“Here.” A pale hand slips out of the crack to take the bag.

The smile fades, tugging painfully at Adam’s heart. “ _Adam,_ ” He whines.

“Kris, please.” The hand, Kris notices, is shaking slightly.

Being the ninja that he is, Kris puts the bag’s handles in Adam’s outstretched hand, but grabs his thumb before he can retreat. Not that he isn’t both, normally, but Kris can’t remember Adam being quite this strong, or that fast; he almost didn’t grab him in time.

“Kris, _let go_.” It’s an order, a command, and Kris resists complying in a way he never has anything before, viciously stomping down the spike of _want_ in his gut. _What is that about, anyway?_ A deep inhale from the dark side of the door reminds Kris of the way dogs get a whiff of something, and they freeze and focus entirely on that scent.

Adam tries one more half-hearted tug, and then he’s wrapping long fingers around Kris’ hand, holding still over the pulse point that betrays an erratic heartbeat.

“Adam,” Kris whispers, though it wasn’t meant to be one, “Tell me what’s going on.”

The deep, dangerous-sounding reply feels like a warning and a threat and a promise, and Kris’ head is _spinning_ , “You really want to know, Kristopher? Are you sure?”

Kris doesn’t know what to expect. Adam in one of those ridiculous face masks or something? Or… A secret orgy, maybe?

  
 _Oh, my god, is someone hiding behind the door with Adam? Are they-- oh, god, is that why Adam sounds so-- Is- is he- is there- is Adam getting--_

  
But, no, Adam would just have said something about being busy or entertaining company, and left it at that. He wouldn’t be standing here, big, warm hand tangled around Kris’.

  
 _Unless… what if he likes it? One hand on his best friend, and the other threaded through someone else’s hair while they--_

  
Adam gasps, tightening his grip almost painfully, “What are you thinking, Kris?” The voice is like nothing Kris has ever heard. It’s- it’s aural sex, is what it is. At that thought, Kris makes a noise that could be considered a whimper, and he’s tugged ever-so-much like the tide following the pull of the moon closer.

“Oh, Kris.” It’s so quiet, it’s almost inaudible, but Kris hears it- feels it- and it sends his insides quaking. “Tell me you want to know.”

Eyes like saucers, heart in his throat, Kris hasn’t been so sure of anything since the first time he held a guitar.

“Everything,” Equally as quiet as Adam, “I want to know everything.”

A soft growl -that’s what it is; if Kris were paying any attention, or if his brain were functioning, he’d wonder absently if Adam got a dog, because that was nothing but an animal sound- and the darkness of the inside shifts, and part of Adam’s face appears.

 _Eyes._

It’s the only thing Kris is thinking in any kind of possibly-coherent way. Just- _eyes_.

Glowing. Iridescent, electric blue. Unnatural. Inhuman. _On fire._

 _Adam._

Kris doesn’t wait. He steps forward, and the form retreats backward, pulling Kris with it, through the door, and inside the house.

  
“…So… You’re a werewolf.”

“Therianthrope. There are a few of us that I know of, but I’m the only… wolf-like one.”

“Who-- No, you don’t have to tell me that. What other kinds do you know?”

Adam seems grateful for not having to name names; it’s not his secret to tell.

“Um, I know of people whose DNA Gen-Q-ed them into traits of things like falcons, panthers, snakes, capuchin monkeys, lemurs, all kinds of things, at all kinds of levels. Some only have the slightest resemblance in some way, like being extremely flexible and constantly in search of something warm to curl around, while others…” His hand flops a vague wave at himself. Eyes like a wolf’s at night, but in the most unreal shade of blue; teeth a little sharper, eye-teeth elongated so that they nearly dent into the bottom lip; a strange set to his posture that Kris can’t quite identify.

“Others transform physically three days out of the month.” Kris offers. Adam thinks Kris is taking all of this extremely well, which worries him almost more than if Kris were freaking out.

“I got lucky that way. Some can’t ever hide their features, their differences. I know a girl who always wears skirts and dresses and things like that because she has a tail; an actual, from-her-tailbone, prehensile tail. I’ve never seen the whole thing, but she’s shown me the tip, and it’s a little fuzzier than her other skin, but it’s just like another arm or leg. I get a little grumpy and snappy and my eyes glow a few days out of the month; I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

Kris takes this in; he’ll do more assimilation and contemplation later, but there are more pressing matters.

“So, I take it you don’t have a tail?”

A quirked eyebrow, “If I do…?”

He’s not quite timid, but Adam can tell Kris is trying to be respectful, “Can I see it? Will- would it be okay if I touched it, or is that, like, ‘hey, can I grope you’ territory?”

Adam laughs, “Well, uh, yeah, that would qualify as fairly intimate. Um, I- I sort of do. It gives me the most trouble around this time, which is another reason why I stay in.”

“Trouble?” And Kris is trying really hard not to start actively checking as to where, exactly, this - _awesome!_ \- tail is.

“It, uh,” Adam hesitates, squirming a little, and doing his best not to let his hands do what they want - _what they’ve wanted_ \- to do. “It tends to have a mind of its own.” He can’t keep playing with Kris like this; he’s already going to be disappointed that Adam doesn’t actually have a tail. Well, not in the traditional sense. He glances down meaningfully at his own crotch.

It takes Kris a second, seeing as how he’s kind of trained himself _not_ to look _there_ , but then he gets the insinuation, and smacks Adam on the arm. “Ugh, dude! I was totally looking forward to you having a tail!”

Adam lets himself relax. It’s just Kris; it’ll always be _Kris_ , and he really should have known better than to be so insane about keeping this from him. His mother was right- oh, crap, she is never to know that.

“I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” Adam doesn’t hold back his relieved laughter.

“Yeah, where’ve I heard that before?” Kris snorts. A few minutes later, “So, I’m totally going to be, like, a huge loser in asking this, but why didn’t you think you could tell me? I’m not, ya know, upset or whatever, I just want to know if maybe there was a reason you couldn’t- or wouldn’t- tell me before now.”

“Aw, baby,” Adam murmurs, scooting closer to Kris on the couch and tugging him under his arm in their usual, tactile positions. “It had nothing to do with you, or me thinking that you would, I dunno, tell people, or be… I know you aren’t the kind of person who judges, or would stop being my friend because of something out of my control, like genetics. I just, I don’t know. I didn’t want to…” _How does he say this? He can’t even put it straight in his own mind._ Adam takes a deep breath, “I guess I didn’t want anything to change, you know, between us. I’ve never had a friend like you, and I just don’t want to do anything that might-- I don’t want to lose that. You.” _God, what is wrong with him?_ Adam hopes Kris understands better than he is explaining.

After a long - _long_ \- pause, “You knew you could trust me, but you were still afraid, because sometimes you don’t know if you can trust yourself.”

“I love you,” Adam blurts, then quickly covers, “I don’t know how you got that from what I said, because I was making no sense, but that is why you are so awesome.”

“I really am,” Kris agrees, teasing smile on his lips. “And I love you, too.” Cuz, why not? _Not_ saying doesn’t make it any less true.

  
Making sure Adam knows that Kris understands, he then leaves Adam to his wolfy weekend.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~

  
1.5 months later::

  
The teapot whistles. Kris, in his room, feels those all-too-familiar tingles.

“Adam,” He whispers, eyes wide and unseeing at his own reflection. “Adam! Don’t touch the handle--”

The whistling stops, but a bang and harsh, pained swearing erupts in its place.

Kris tears out of his room, sprinting for Adam, pulling his injured hand under the cool running tap.

“God, that was so stupid of me. It’s just habit, I--” Adam’s teapot has one of those rubberized, non-appendage-scarring handles.

“No, no, it’s my fault. I should have--” _Why don’t I think things through? What was I even doing in my room in the first place?_

“It is not your fault, you crazy little man.” Adam assures with a chuckle. “Here, I’m- I’m fine,” And he tries to pull away from Kris’ ministrations.

Yeah, Kris isn’t having any of that, thanks very much. “Would you just-- Hold still--”

“It barely even hurts anymore; I’m fine.” Because he’s a big boy, he doesn’t need all this fussing, and besides, he’s been feeling that _tingle_ he gets when the wolf part of him starts getting impossible to ignore, way too early. There’s barely any moon at all, and Adam still feels like he’s pacing behind cage doors. It’s always worse when Kris is around, and he’s so close right now. _So close_.

“Adam.” Long-suffering and exasperated; Kris knows Adam is one of those ‘I can do it myself, I don’t need help, move along’ people.

“Kris.” Adam’s right hand is on back of Kris’ neck. Neither of them know how it got there.

The water is turned off, three hands drip into the sink, but Kris won’t look up. It might be for the best. Adam feels the possessive, lustful animal parts of his DNA sparking, rushing like bubbles in thick honey up his spine, and it’s taking every bit of his willpower to not let out a low, purring growl.

Instead, he feels his mouth form a whispered, “Kris.”

That seems to trigger something in Kris, because he’s tilting his head, and they bend and stretch and meet one another in the middle, connecting softly at the lips. Kris sighs, lifting one wet hand to stroke the side of Adam’s face and jaw at an awkward position, seeing as how he’s still facing his body toward the sink, and Adam is pressed, chest to Kris’ shoulder. Still, the touch makes Adam make this _sound_ , and open his mouth slightly, so Kris rakes his fingers back through thick black hair, and opens himself up for Adam to take. And does he ever.

There’s a screaming chorus of ‘ _want, yes, more, want_ ’ coming from inside them both, and Kris is perfectly okay with going there (no, seriously, _please, please let’s go there, I’m begging_ ).

Adam, on the other hand, notices his own growing desperation, and how he isn’t exactly in control, anymore. He can get rough, but he knows his ‘other side’ can get downright violent, and there’s absolutely no way he’s letting this stupid mutation hurt Kris.

A sharper-than-typically-acceptable bite to Kris’ mouth, and a bruising grip struggling to break free and really _dominate_ , and, “I gotta- I gotta go. I can’t--” Adam pants out, yanking himself away from Kris, refusing to look him in the eyes.

“Adam, wait--”

 _He doesn’t understand_ , Adam repeats to himself, _it’s not safe- he’s not safe with you, you have to protect him._

“I can’t be here right now. I have to go.”

“What are you talking about? Adam, talk to me.” Kris’ efforts to grab a hold of Adam are in vain, and he’s left staggering by the back of the couch, gaping incredulously and with no small amount of confusion at the man racing to be away from Kris’ presence.

“I-- I’ll call you later, okay? I gotta go. I’ll call you.” And he’s out the door, gone.

Well. That did not go at all the way Kris anticipated.

  
~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
The entire next day, there’s not one text from either boy to the other. Every time Adam starts one, it never seems adequate. ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t nearly enough, and ‘sorry for running out on you, but I didn’t want to toss you around your house, into walls, bend you over furniture, etc, and possibly tear you apart/rape you to death’ just seems like something better said in person.

Kris just doesn’t know what to say, period, and figures Adam needs some time to, ya know, figure out what the heck is going on with himself or whatever, and Kris is nothing if not a laid-back guy, and good friend. Although, maybe it’s the ‘friend’ thing that’s the problem. Was last night too far? He acted like he was enjoying it, like he wanted-- but, then, _pfft_ , right out the door. Was it something about Kris? What was that ‘I can’t be here’ about? Why did Adam look almost scared? Too many questions, and Kris keeps coming up with more, with no answers to any of them.

Anyway, there’s someone about to end up with frappacino all over themselves due to their own inadequacy at using the machine ( _it’s a lever, you pull it, for crying out loud_ ), so Kris has something with which to keep himself occupied.

  
“Mom. Mom, open up, I need to talk to you!” Adam knocks on the door harder.

“My goodness, Adam, what is it?” Leila ushers her son in, tying her robe together.

“It’s bad, Mom, it’s really bad. Oh, my god, what did I do? How could I be so stupid?” It’s half to her, and half to himself.

“Honey, sit down, tell me what’s going on.”

“Can’t sit.” Adam continues to pace in her ( _-newly furnished and arranged, Adam would like noted-_ ) living room. “Really bad. Bad, bad.”

“Adam,” Mom Voice. Works every time. “Words that mean something, use them.”

“Kris. Tea. Burned hand.” He shows her the already-healing palm. “Close.” He goes dazed at the memory, “Close.” Then recovers, “Kissed him. Then- bad.”

“The kiss was bad?” Leila guesses blindly.

“No! God, no. So good. Really, really, god, so good.”

Not needing details, “Okay. So, what’s the bad?”

“Me! Me and my stupid,” He flails at himself, more animated than Leila’s seen him in a while, and that’s saying something. “The stupid Q wolf thing!”

Suddenly nervous, “Adam, you didn’t-- Kris is okay, right? He isn’t hurt?”

Huge, blue eyes, full of tears and cloudy with the kind of self-loathing she hasn’t seen since Adam’s teen years, “Not physically. But I- I just _left_. I freaked out. One second we were kissing, and the next, I’m flying out the door.”

Leila’s forehead furrows, “Your wolf side freaked out? Something about Kris set it off?”

Adam scoffs ruefully, “Oh, Kris sets it off, alright. I want to pound him into a wall, drag him back to my _den_ , chain him to the bed, and break the springs at every possible opportunity.”

Wow, that is way more information than she needed or wanted or wants to have in her brain at all, ever.

“I take it you didn’t tell Kris about…”

“He knows. Last- no, the month before last, he came over. Caught me. He was very… _Kris_ about it.” Adam’s lips try to raise a little at the memory. “And I don’t need an ‘I told you so’, okay?”

Leila frowns slightly, “He knows about the wolf, so what’s the problem?”

“Yeah, he knows I’ve got the whole wolf thing happening, but I didn’t exactly go into how dear old wolfy has itself a frickin’ massive crush on him.”

“Just wolfy?” Leila interrupts, because, come on.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Adam ignores his mother. “But I don’t know if I can keep control around him. I’ve been Q-ing out for weeks; I can’t get a handle on it. It’s like it’s always right there, waiting. And now, with Kris-- How am I supposed to-- What- what do I do, Mom?” The lost little boy he used to be allows his mother to haul him into her lap and cuddle him. “What do I do?”

  
Once the sympathy portion of their chat is done, Leila gives Adam advice very similar to what she told him before, “You need to talk to Kris. If you want any kind of relationship with him- friend or more- you have to tell him what’s going on. He needs to know; he deserves to know. And you have to trust that he’s going to understand. If you can’t learn to trust him, then this is as far as you two will ever get.”

\-------------------

Adam sends the text before he can think himself out of it. ‘ _we need 2 talk_ ’

The successive ones he receives are not what he’s expecting. _‘should have told you before, I’m a gen-q. really dumb ability. I can tell when something bad’s gonna happen- not what or who, just tingles.’ ‘it’s how we met. felt the car coming. before that too, tell you later. anyway, idk why I never said- embarased? i feel stupid now :\’ ‘are you gonna tell me why you left, or are you breaking up with me?’ ‘sorry- bad joke!’ ‘omg, nevermind, I’m such a freak. come over? or whatever you want’_

Kris beats his head against his phone. Adam must think he is the biggest moron on the planet.

It’s official, Adam is in love with the cutest thing alive. _Wait a second, Adam’s in **what**?! Well, there’s a little tidbit we’ll be keeping to ourselves, isn’t it?_ Adam’s brain tells him, his eyes bugging out at the new information.

 _‘knock, knock’_ Adam replies to Kris' myriad of texts.

 _‘who’s there? big bad wolf, is that you? ;P’_

 _‘there’s a joke about blowing in there, but for once I’ve got more on my mind. Ikr, don’t faint ;p’_

 _‘holy crap! AFL not making a bj joke?? isn’t that a sign of the apocalypse or something?’_

 _‘shutup. & open up’_ Followed by, _‘lil piggy’_ , because he couldn’t pass up _all_ the blowjob jokes, come on.

Kris goes to his door and looks out the peephole, a little surprised to see Adam actually standing there, phone in hand. He opens the door, immediately recognizing last night’s clothes and make-up.

As Adam is entering, “Did you not go home?”

Looking slightly chagrined, Adam shrugs, “Walked around, went to mom’s.”

“Oh.” It’s all Kris can think of to say. He palms the back of his neck, both of them awkward in the tiny entryway. “I didn’t sleep real good, either.”

Adam blows out a big breath, and starts in, speaking rapidly, “Kris, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to just run out on you like that; that was so awful of me, and I’m really sorry. I know you deserve an explanation, I just was so not prepared to give you one last night, and I’m probably going to screw this up, as well, but you need to know I’m not actually an as--”

“Adam! Dude, I know, man. This is me, okay? Come on, sit down.” He’s still muttering as they sit on opposite sides of the couch, facing each other, “Jeez, freak out much? Seriously, like I don’t know you. Drama queen.”

That relaxes Adam enough that he’s able to at least see and breathe normally.

“Okay, so, I’m gonna ask some questions, and you’re gonna answer them. Cool?” Kris takes charge of the situation. Both sides of Adam find that blisteringly hot. “Did you leaving last night have anything to do with me?” He sounds all business, but Adam can hear the underlying shred of anxiety.

“No. Well, yes.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.” Kris’ voice is flat and dry, much like his expression.

“Yes, it has something to do with you, but no, it isn’t anything you have anything to do with.” Yeah, that was a lot more explanatory, Lambert. Good job. “I mean, you are the-- You’re-- There’s nothing you can do about--”

“Maybe I should have started with an easier question?”

Adam sighs, closes his eyes briefly, and tries again. “It had something to do with you, but is my problem entirely.” There. That should not have been so difficult.

Kris bites his lip and nods, thinking. “So, it’s nothing I can fix, is what you’re saying.”

“Right.” _Wait, that was supposed to be a positive thing. Why is there a sad person on the other side of this couch? Why is my person sad?_ Adam’s furry counterpart is pulling out its claws, going into protective mode. “Baby, no. Maybe I’m not saying this right. Look,” And he momentarily gets sidelined by big, brown eyes staring at him like the next words he says will either make him ecstatic or crush him into a fine powder. “You are… amazing. You’re-” He huffs, “You’re kind of perfect, to be painfully honest, and there are parts of me that won’t stop noticing that.”

“Uhh, did- were you not there for the part where I was kissing you? Cuz, I dunno, where I’m from, that’s one of those obvious signs that I’m really okay with those noticing parts of you. Also, that I’m doing some noticing of my own.”

“None of your parts have the desire or ability to maul me, though, which is not something I can say for myself.”

“Wait, you’re worried about the wolf thing? Man, you know I’m cool with that. And if you’re so nervous about it, we’ll just keep your schedule of--”

“It’s _all the time_ , Kris. Lately, it won’t let up, and it’s starting to become all I can do to keep in control when I’m-” May as well go all-in. “When I’m with you.” Deep breath, and here we go, “I don’t know how to say this, but… you bring out the wolf in me.”

Kris doesn’t say anything, but he is trying to understand.

“See, normally when I’m attracted to a guy, the wolf part is pretty ambivalent about it. Like, it’ll lift its head and take a peek, but then it goes back to sleep. With you, it’s like he’s constantly trying to take over. It was fine at first, but I think it’s starting to get impatient with me.”

“Impatient?”

He doesn’t even stop to think about the words, “He wants you, Kris. It-- I mean, I. I want you, but I have self-control and stuff,” Oh, yes, very convincing. “While all the wolf knows is, like, _possession_.” Nicely done, now you’ve scared-- He isn’t looking very scared. That isn’t scared face. That’s, um. Oh, wow, okay.

Breathing quickened, heartbeat erratic and loud in Kris’ ears, under his skin, “Okay.”

“Okay? What-?” Adam is cut off by Kris getting much closer, trying to calm his near-panting.

“Okay.” He repeats. His hand finds its way to Adam’s neck on its own.

Adam hears himself let out an ‘ohhh’ sound as he’s tugged - _yeah, like it was a real fight_ \- down to Kris’ lips. One, two seconds, and he’s struggling to pull away enough to protest, “Kris, you don’t-- I could hurt y-- You need to underst--”

Kris uses the hand on Adam’s collarbone to push him back with force, back into the couch. Then he’s sitting up, swinging a leg over, and, oh, sweet mother of-- Kris is sitting astride Adam’s thighs, holding him sort of squished into the cushions along the back of the couch. Adam’s hands flutter, uncertain of where to land, and unaware that they’re moving at all, because Adam’s synapses have ceased proper functioning.

“I don’t get tingles with you.” He says, rather cryptically. “I mean, you give me tingles,” Ludicrous eyebrows, “but that signal for danger? Not one.” The hand eases, stroking upward, tenderly smoothing an errant lock of hair behind a reddening ear. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid to be with you. I’m not scared, Adam.”

There might have been more words coming, but they’re choked off and die in Kris’ throat when Adam’s hands finally decide to take up residence on the outside of Kris’ thighs. This time, it’s Kris who makes the breathy ‘ohhh.’ It becomes a hitched noise, followed by a sighing moan when Adam slides his grip up to Kris’ hips, fingers stretching over back pockets. As if to test Kris’ sincerity, Adam jerks down hard, and Kris sprawls out, groins grinding into one another. Holding him still with a merciless grasp, Adam pushes his own hips upward, keen eyes studying Kris’ every inflection. He doesn’t even know how to react when Kris rolls his own hips downward, shivering, and when his eyes open, they meet Adam’s for less than a second before slamming closed and Kris is attacking Adam’s mouth with more heat and passion than Adam’s experienced, possibly ever.

An unnatural snarl builds up from Adam’s chest, taking over, and in no more than a single second, Adam has Kris pinned on his back underneath him on the couch. He rocks against Kris from between his legs, and shudders at the feeling of universal alignment.

Still, he has to be sure. “Are we doing this?”

Ever sure, Kris replies in the same breathless way, “We are _so_ doing this.” And that’s plenty good enough for Adam.

“Good thing I burned my left hand.”

“Oh? You have plans for the right one?”

A wicked smirk erases the last stray vestige of hesitation.

\----------------

Sharp teeth sink down into the fleshy muscle connecting shoulder and neck.

With the heat rushing inside comes a low moan that escalates into a medium-toned howl. It starts out almost mournful-sounding; almost like pain. And then it’s recognized for what it is: joy. Victory. It reverberates and resonates, out into the Universe and deep into Kris’ bones, his soul, and it’s _more_. More than a mark; more than a brand; more than even a claiming.

A warm tongue laps gently at the indentations, soothing the hurt Kris can’t quite feel over his amaranthine contentment. There’s a snuffling nose at the base of Kris’ head and he arches into it like a cat. Hips reflex out a few stuttered thrusts, and Kris thinks, ‘What refractory period?’ but is left feeling the acute sense of loss as the source of all that heat and comfort is slowly drawn away. It’s cold for a few seconds, and Kris involuntarily whimpers. At a speed that could be truly frightening, the mountain is back, nuzzling and petting the barely bereft occupant in the cave of blankets. Lukewarm, cloth wetness cleans the two, and is promptly discarded, being tossed rather accurately onto the tile of the bathroom without the thrower even looking, focus squarely elsewhere.

There’s more gentle attention to the distinct teeth marks, and Kris thinks it feels a little like reverence, like a bit of awe and the kind of attachment that comes with a proprietary feeling. There’s not a part of Kris’ back half that isn’t covered by warm flesh, and the same can be said for a large amount of his front, too.

From the quiet comes a mumbled, “Good?”

Kris smiles, snuggling backwards and nodding, rumbling a, “Mm-hmm.” in response. “You?”

Kris can feel the answer, not just in the vibrations from Adam’s voice, or the breath moving his hair, but on a level that makes the mark on his shoulder throb. A way that pulls at him from his very core; the center and beat of his heart understand more than his brain can comprehend. This is more. More than an accident, a coincidence, or Kris’ weird, stupid tingling ability finally acting up in a way that makes Kris happy. It’s more than either of them could have ever predicted.

It feels like coming home.  
 

  



End file.
